


Kaze no Traveler

by monsterkiss



Series: BruGio Week 2019 [4]
Category: Rune Factory (Video Games), ジョジョの奇妙な冒険 | JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken | JoJo's Bizarre Adventure
Genre: Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-11-02 00:24:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20558972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monsterkiss/pseuds/monsterkiss
Summary: Giorno Giovanna had no intention of settling down for a life of peaceful farming alongside gentle wildlife and helpful townsfolk.Which was quite lucky really, as he was not going to get one.





	Kaze no Traveler

**Author's Note:**

> I said I would finish Brugio week and with god as my witness I shall, even if it has to become an entire Brugio month.
> 
> So "today's" prompt was Crossover, a thing I normally do not do, but I was feeling a little indulgent and they recently announced a Rune Factory 4 remaster(!) and a sequel(!!) and, well, if there's one character who would be a natural in a farming sim...

_~Spring 4th~_

Giorno stared down at the shipping container.

It was an old thing but clearly sturdy, built for a function and built to last. The inside had neat partitions for different kinds of crops and the lining was clearly enchanted, proof against any weather.

His crops were sparse, but he was proud of them. A few turnips and a bunch of toyherbs, along with some grasses he’d harvested from the unused part of his field. The strange and very large man who had left him this farm when he stumbled into town a week ago had been right: he had a real knack for this.

It would have been a very encouraging sight, were it not for the fact that these were the crops he’d left in the box the night before. Still here.

He sighed and gathered them up into his bag and began the short trek into town.

Naples was a perfectly pleasant place to live while he conducted his search, he had to admit. His mysterious benefactor had seemed very reluctant to leave and he could see why. With the spring breeze sending petals flying down the sparkling cobbled streets the place was like something out of a picture book, and the few people up this early smiled and nodded as he went past. A far cry from the city. Perhaps once he had completed his task he would consider settling down here for good, or somewhere like it.

But that was a long way to look ahead. Today he would settle for smaller ambitions.

He found his way back to the general store easily enough and let himself in, the little bell above the door ringing obnoxiously.

The shopkeeper bounced up from behind the counter with a worrying thud. “Ow, ow, sorry, hello! How can I help- oh, the new farmer, from the Joestar place! You’re back!” He smiled as Giorno walked up and laid his pack on the countertop.

“I’ve come to sell these, if you’re interested. I could use a few more seeds, too.”

“Let’s see, let’s see…” The man rummaged around, picking out a few choice turnips to admire. “Wow, these are great! But then, I think you said you were an earthmate, right?”

“That’s what I was told.” It was something he’d only occasionally even heard mentioned in the city, but Mr Joestar had sounded very certain of it.

“I can’t wait to see what other things you bring me once you get that place up and going properly. Let me just tally these up-”

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about my shipping container.”

The man’s smile curdled. “Ah. Yes.”

“I noticed that you didn’t come and pick these up.”

“No.”

“Did you speak about it with your manager.”

“Yeah… He’s a little paranoid about working with new people. I could try asking again?” He smiled apologetically but his tone indicated that he had very little faith in this course of action.

“I’d appreciate that.”

The man sighed but nodded, scooping up his crops and disappearing into the back.

Giorno waited, idly looking at the produce on the shelves.

_“He’s asking about the box again.”_

He automatically leaned towards the sound, a conspiratorial whisper.

_“I know, I told him. They’re pretty good vegetables, though!”_

He strained to hear another voice, but couldn’t even make out a second set of breaths, just the sound of things being moved about.

_“You’re always complaining about suppliers, and he’s right down the road.”_

Against his better instincts, Giorno sidled a little to the right, trying to catch a glimpse through the door.

_“He seems nice, anyway. Hm? What? Well you _are_ a little paranoid sometimes, c’mon.”_

He could make out shadows moving across the wall. There didn’t seem to be more than one, but the one he could see didn’t look quite right for the man who had been smiling at the counter a moment ago.

_“No, of course I didn’t mean it like that! You’re just all wound up still, even though- Hm? Yeah, I know. That’s why we’ve got me, right? We’re out of the city here; you can relax a little. It’s not good for you, you know? I just worry sometimes. C’mere?”_

He could just about make out the shopkeeper now, though not anyone else. He had his arms wrapped around his middle, boxes and stock left where they lay, rocking back and forth slightly on his heels and humming tunelessly.

He was beginning to reconsider his choice to stay in this particular town when the bell started its clamorous ringing and he dashed back to his position as a patient customer once more.

The man who entered was unfamiliar to him, a dark elf with a tight braid along the crown of his head and a relaxed posture that belied the daggers strapped to his back, but he gave a polite smile and stepped up behind him, forming a line of two. Giorno returned his smile with his own well-crafted empty grin and turned back to stare into the middle distance above the counter, but not before noticing the man's eyes sweep over his own staff.

A flash of movement caught his eye and he heard another whisper: _“Two of them, now.”_

He heard the man behind him sigh. “Doppio. A word, please.”

The man reappeared, slipping out of the back room with some reluctance, as if elasticated. “Got a customer,” he mumbled, not meeting the new arrival’s eyes. He held a receipt in one hand and a few bags of seeds in the other. He laid them all on the counter before Giorno, taking perhaps more time and care to neatly arrange them than was strictly necessary.

“This is for the crops and these are the fresh seeds. The manager just took the cost off of what we owe you, is that okay?”

“I have no problem with that,” Giorno said, scenting cautiously for traps.

The shopkeeper sighed, pouting. “He’s not very keen on the delivery thing, but I’ll keep asking.”

“Thank you.” Giorno gathered up the payment and the seeds, a little surprised that it all appeared to be in perfect order and that the handwriting was considerably neater than the prices noted on the shelves.

“You’re the one Joestar left the farm to?” He turned to see the other man sizing him up openly. “You must have impressed him quite a bit, for him to just hand it over like that. Bruno Bucciarati,” he added, offering his hand.

He took it. “Giorno Giovanna, and I’m only looking after it while he’s gone.”

“He’s an earthmate! Isn't that great, Bucciarati? Oh, you should ask Bucciarati about that guy you're looking-"

"Doppio." The man stepped around Giorno. "We need to talk about your monsters. Again."

The shopkeeper winced. "Aw c'mon, Bucciarati, what is it this time?"

"The neighbors have been complaining about sounds of a ruckus and garden plants going missing."

"I dunno anything about that, sorry." He affected a look of innocence that might have been more convincing if it were not quite so forceful.

"I'm trying to _help_ you, Doppio. You don't want Abbacchio to be knocking on your door."

The man rolled his eyes before remembering he was supposed to be feigning friendly ignorance. "He said I could have two, so that's all I have. Just two sweet, harmless bugs to help me with the storeroom."

Bucciarati's eyes narrowed. "Only two?"

"Only two!"

"Alright. How big?"

A look flashed across Doppio's face too quickly for Giorno to fully register, but it sent the hairs on the back of his neck standing up.

"Well, it's none of my business. I'm not the town guard. But he _will_ come down here eventually, and he doesn't like giving the same caution twice."

"You can't just expect me to let them go outside. They'll only come right back into town when they get hungry."

"There's always the Forest of Beginnings."

"That's a bit extreme." Giorno had very little interest in other peoples' problems, but he had a bottomless well of sympathy for monsters.

"See!" Doppio gestured imploringly at his new ally.

Bucciarati was unmoved. "It's not my concern _how_ it's done, just that it is."

Doppio deflated, glaring.

"You know," Giorno said, wheels turning in his head, "I could use some hard-working monsters on my farm. There's a small barn there already and you could visit whenever you wanted."

The shopkeep looked to him, eyes narrowing. "Whenever I wanted?" he eventually asked.

Giorno smiled. "Of course. My farm is just outside of town; a very short walk." And perhaps while he was in the area he might happen to stumble over the delivery box…

For a long moment the man regarded him, brown eyes scouring Giorno's practiced poker face, before sliding to Bucciarati. "Is that alright?"

"I can't see why it wouldn't be." Giorno was momentarily surprised to see that he was also examining him closely.

"Great!" The force of the emotional shift was so abrupt he was almost left reeling. "I'll come by and drop them off later," he said, clutching Giorno's hand tightly as they shook on it, "to make sure it's a good enough home for them."

Again Giorno felt the sense that an expression had flickered over that face that he had not quite caught, but he smiled and nodded.

As he left the shop he could just barely hear: _"See, I said he seemed nice."_

"That was very generous of you." Bucciarati had left with him and was now walking alongside him, smiling and waving at other passersby as the town woke up.

Giorno shrugged, not altogether happy to be accompanied. "I need help on the farm and insectoid monsters are very useful."

"Hm," Bucciarati hummed, "but it was a kind gesture nonetheless. I'm glad it could be resolved without incident. That particular individual can be… volatile."

"It did seem so." Giorno glanced back towards the shop, where a few people were now heading in, sending the bell jangling. "Is the manager…" he trailed off, not entirely sure what he was implying himself.

His companion sighed again. "We think it's a haunting."

"The shop is haunted?"

"No, the owner." Giorno must have looked as confused as he felt, because he elaborated, "They've been that way since they moved into town a few years ago. Our local magic expert thinks possession is the most likely explanation."

"And he's not sought help?"

"On the contrary, they're… actively resistant, let's say. They still won't have Fugo on the premises since he started talking about exorcisms."

"I see," Giorno said, carefully.

Bucciarati shrugged. "Doppio is usually pleasant enough and the… other one seems to have a knack for business. The town needs a grocer."

"So the people have decided to do nothing about a ghost selling them their cabbages?"

"It takes all kinds. Besides, we can't exactly force them to go through with a ritual purification. Anyway," he added, "he may have a very good reason for reacting so poorly to the idea."

Giorno inclined his head. "Oh?"

"As I said, they've been like that since they got here. Polpo - that's the owner of that restaurant up the road there - knew them when he lived back in the Sechs Empire and claims they were much the same back then."

"Which means?"

"Which means there is nobody who can say for sure which one of them is the ghost."

"Ah."

"Yes."

Giorno had assumed that the man would part ways once his explanation was finished, but he continued walking beside him. "Are you a member of the guard?" he asked, wary.

Bucciarati turned back from greeting a young man fishing at one of the waterways. "Me? Oh no, not at all. I prefer to help people avoid problems, rather than punish them for them. May I ask you something?"

Giorno put his expression back on neutral. "You may."

"Doppio mentioned something about you looking for someone, if I heard it right? I know everyone in town quite well; I would be happy to help if I can."

"I see. And in return?"

He smiled. "The satisfaction of avoiding another problem, perhaps. This town is a wonderful place to live because we help each other."

His face betrayed a casual honesty that couldn't help but put Giorno at ease. It was not a feeling he was overly familiar with. Before he had fully considered it he found himself removing the folded sketch from inside his jacket and handing it over.

"This is the man?" Bucciarati stared at the picture with a focused intensity.

"Do you recognise him?"

"I don't think so. I assume you don't have one of him from the front. Or clothed."

"No."

He nodded. For a few more moments he stared at the image, then neatly re-folded it and handed it back. "I'm sorry. I've committed it to memory, though, and I'll certainly ask around."

"Thank you." Giorno hadn't expected anything else. He was used to disappointment in this venture by now.

"May I ask who he is?"

"My father. Or so I am told."

"I see. Well," Bucciarati smiled at him, "you chose a good place to stay. We get a lot of people moving through here, so if you stay long enough I'm confident we'll find someone who can help."

Giorno nodded, the smile and the "we" disarming him somewhat.

"There's the grocery and the restaurant, of course, and the baths are up along that way, there," he indicated another broad, bright street, "as well as a lot of little places if you want clothes or tools, and there's Mista's place by the docks. He’s the blacksmith, although it's anyone's guess when he chooses to open shop, so I suggest you stock up whenever the opportunity presents itself."

He frowned a little, a line forming between his eyebrows. It looked like a well-worn track. He turned to Giorno and looked him over again. "There's a spot outside of town that's quite well-known. A little track that leads up to a hill overlooking the sea. It's very popular among couples. If it's not imposing too much, could I ask you to join me? When you have the time, of course."

Giorno blinked. "I'm flattered, but I'd rather we start with a lunch date, perhaps some gelato by the sea."

Bucciarati looked puzzled, then his eyebrows shot up. "No, no I'm very sorry, I didn't mean it that way at all, I apologise-"

"It's alright." Giorno held up a hand, smiling. "I'm not offended. I have a lot of experience with these kinds of requests."

He looked as if he were about to launch into another barrage of contrition, then stopped and offered a weak smile in return. "It's not polite to kick a man when he's down."

"Perhaps not, but it can be entertaining."

"Then I'm glad to have amused you, at least." The smile gained a little confidence. "I was actually hoping to enlist your help."

"My help?"

"Some people carry weapons just to look intimidating, but you look like you know how to use that staff you're carrying."

Giorno's hand twitched towards it. "I know how to defend myself."

Bucciarati nodded. "That track up to the hill I mentioned has recently had a dramatic increase in monster attacks, and people have reported seeing a very strange, very large monster at the summit."

Giorno shrugged. "Sounds like work for the town guard."

"It would be," Bucciarati sighed, "but Abbacchio has been… struggling, lately."

"So you have taken it upon yourself to remove another problem?"

The man smiled. "I have."

Giorno considered it. He wasn't very fond of guards, but Bucciarati genuinely did not seem the type. He was confident enough in his abilities, and perhaps it would not hurt his mission to endear himself to the townspeople. Besides, Joestar's cryptic advice hung over him. He'd seemed very certain that staying in town would help Giorno find the man he was looking for. 

He was trying to convince himself, he realised. Something about this man he'd just met was drawing him in.

"Alright. Let's go."

"Hm? Oh!" Bucciarati gave him a quizzical look before rushing to catch up as Giorno made a beeline for the town gate.

"You'll have to lead, I'm afraid. I still don't know the area very well."

"Right now? Are you sure?"

"Of course."

"Could I ask why?" Bucciarati had caught up and was striding beside him, easily keeping pace. Giorno watched as he brushed his dark hair from his face, the same clear focus in place that he'd poured into memorising Giorno's sketch.

He shrugged, letting him take the lead. "I suppose I just like helping people."

Once out of the gate the shining white cobbles and plinths dissolved rapidly into forest and and dusty road. Bucciarati took him down past the turning to Giorno's farmstead and along the road he had originally walked when he'd first come to Naples, soaked and shivering in the rain.

They walked in near silence, Bucciarati occasionally pointing out some landmark or divergence in the road, but for the most part keeping his thoughts locked behind that determined expression.

When Bucciarati did finally say, "Here," it was almost unnecessary. There had been several paths leading up the hill, but only this one was lined with flowers, pinks and blues and whites whispering in the breeze. The trees above had formed arches and their leaves dappled the sunlight into golden flickers that flashed across the ground. He could see why people would want to visit it. What he could not see were any monsters.

"Well," Bucciarati unsheathed his daggers, "let's go." Giorno nodded, drawing his staff and feeling out the magic in the earth, letting it hum through him.

They started up the path, Bucciarati still in the lead. The track was winding, coiling around the hill lazily, a route for those who were in no hurry to get anywhere. The woods only got thicker and the flowers that had been in neat beds now formed a lush carpet that pooled around the trees and bushes and even bled onto the path itself.

It really was quite nice, Giorno thought. Simple and freeform, charming and comforting. Presumably as relationships were meant to be, he mused. He enjoyed the scent of flowers and the gentle breeze, the warm light and the sounds of…

Nothing. No birdsong, no insects chirping, no crunch of leaves as peaceful monsters gambolled. Silence.

"Bucciarati-"

"I know." The man had slowed to a stop up ahead, surveying the area carefully. His daggers caught the light, flashing blue. Giorno stayed a little ways further back. He had not developed his magic with preventing friendly fire in mind. 

He had not even considered the possibility of friendlies.

Just when he was about to suggest they proceed cautiously there was a flash of movement and a susurration of leaves from a nearby bush.

"There!"

Bucciarati sprang forward, daggers a gleaming blur as Giorno began drawing on the earth, calling to the world and feeling it answer with power that tanged metallic on his tongue, and then-

And then Bucciarati stopped, mid-sweep, and Giorno let go of the power, leaving a faint hollow yearning in its place. A group of three woolies had stumbled out of the bushes and were now wandering vaguely around, cowering whenever they remembered there were people looming over them.

Giorno coughed. "It would seem the monster threat may have been exaggerated somewhat?" he offered.

"Hm." Bucciarati crouched down, examining the woolies for any sign of latent menace. The largest one fell over at him.

Giorno stepped closer, staff still low. "Perhaps someone saw one of these creatures in the shadows and panicked, as we just did," he smiled, "and from there, well, rumours can take on a life of their own." Sound was starting to creep back into the forest, a gentle hum. 

"It's possible." Bucciarati straightened up, still watching the frolicking monsters with a pensive expression. 

"Since we're here, I could always take you up on that offer."

It took a moment for the man to realise he'd been spoken to. He looked at Giorno, pointed ears twitching as the forest murmured. "I'm sorry?"

"Our rendezvous at this renowned romantic point."

He grinned and Bucciarati returned the smile, though it looked a little half-hearted. The air buzzed.

"I-"

"Move!"

Giorno grabbed his shoulder and pulled him away as the woods erupted in a flurry of movement and gleaming carapace. The woolies scattered in the wake of the newcomers: four heracles beetles with wicked horns and clicking mouthparts.

“Ah,” Bucciarati muttered, “I did forget to ask him where he’d found them.”

He pushed Giorno back and threw himself forward, daggers trailing blue. The nearest beetle was knocked down with a cracking sound as the spell bound to the weapons loosened its connection to the world. Giorno called back to the earth and felt the magic rise to meet him. With a swish of his staff he drew rock and dirt into a dense boulder that he sent crashing into the beetle with a flourish, finishing the job. A pillar of light sprang up as it was sent back to the Forest of Beginnings. 

Bucciarati had already begun work on two of the others, dancing through the air as he balanced holding both off. Giorno moved closer as the third approached for an ambush, throwing up a wall between it and the dark elf.

The beetle turned to Giorno, mouthparts violently clicking. He was impressed by their intelligence. The monster clearly understood that the barrier had come from him and that therefore he needed to be eliminated. It advanced cautiously, low to the ground. Anticipating another attack and hoping to endure it, begin a counterattack.

Giorno shook himself. Now was not the time to marvel at monsters and their capacity for planning and thought. He called on the elements again. The beetle froze, black beads of eyes following the light at the end of his staff. Giorno smiled, and swept the staff upwards. This time the ground sprang up right under the monster, flipping it onto its back as it frantically clicked. It had been banished before it hit the ground.

Looking back at Bucciarati he saw that the man had made short work of one of the remaining beetles, and even as Giorno reached for the magic the other fell.

He cast around, daggers still up, but if there were any more monsters, the demonstration had sent them back into the undergrowth.

"You don't get those here usually, I'm assuming?" Giorno looked to the spot where the beetles had first emerged, undergrowth torn and scarred.

"No," Bucciarati answered, lowering his daggers but not sheathing them. He looked around at the lush forest as though it were a friend who had disappointed him. He shook himself off. "You fight well," he said, smiling at Giorno.

He had been about to respond with something pithy, but the smile was genuine and warm and it seemed a shame for it to be wasted on him. "Shall we head back?"

Bucciarati looked back into the woods, brow creasing. "If you wouldn't mind," he glanced at Giorno, apologetic, "I would like to follow the path to the end, just to be sure."

"You're a very thorough person, aren't you?"

He nodded, sincere. "Those monsters were unusual, certainly, but not so unusual that they would cause people to flee in hysterics."

Giorno shrugged. "As I was saying before we were interrupted, rumours can get ahead of the truth very quickly."

"I don't doubt it, but I would still like to be certain. You don't need to come," he added, "you've done plenty here. You are under no obligation." His tone wasn't passive-aggressive or bitter. He was stating facts, and Giorno was certain that if he took him up on his offer they would part on good terms.

There wasn't really any reason to stay any longer. Bucciarati may have believed differently, but he was fairly confident that a gang of heracles beetles would be enough to rattle any small-town rambler. Good deed for the day, completed. Back to his homestead.

Still. "I might as well see this local landmark that we have just saved." He smiled, already resuming his walk up the hill.

The elf didn't look even a little surprised and he fell into step alongside him. Even following the attack, he carried no tension in his body, only that small line between his eyebrows occasionally betraying some worry.

Still, they walked a little easier now. Something about fighting with someone made you yearn to trust them a little, Giorno had found. Of course, he knew it was all as tenuous and shallow as any other connection, but it was nice to enjoy it while it lasted, safe behind his fortress of experience.

"I think you will like living here." The confidence in his voice gave him pause.

"Why is that?"

"It's not like the city. Everything you make comes from the earth and yourself. You tend the soil, and the soil gives to you. You enrich each other. You strike me as the kind of person who could really appreciate that."

"Are you a farmer?"

"I fish." He smiled. "Salt water runs thicker than blood in my family."

Giorno only nodded. It was true enough; even in the city he'd kept plants on his windowsill, piled on stacks of books and boxes as he tried to get them to the light barely peeking over the rooftops. People in the city didn't grow things, as a general rule. They didn't speak plainly about themselves, either.

He was trying to think of what the right way to ask more about Bucciarati's family would be when the man flung an arm out in front of him. 

He could just spot a clearing ahead. "Here?"

He nodded. "Something's wrong," he said, soft. "Move carefully."

They crept towards the crest of the hill, weapons up. As they came to the plateau Giorno paused, his eyes widening. The trees thinned out, forming a semicircle with the blunted cliff edge reaching out for the sky. The ocean glittered below, blue and silver flashing under the sun. The ground was lush with grasses and flowers, herbs and seedlings all the way up to the edge where they spilled over like a floral waterfall. It made him want to lie down, let the green swallow him, sleep until the blossoms burst from his skin, until trees took root in his rib cage. 

"I see why the townsfolk would miss this," he murmured to Bucciarati, still at his left.

"Shh!" He held up a finger to his lips, dagger reflecting his eyes, blue on blue. "This isn't right. It's too verdant. Look at the ground." He gestured around them.

Giorno could only see emerald dotted with flecks of flower-colour.

"It was only recently that people stopped coming, but the grass is completely perfect. No places where it's been walked through or rested on. I don't think I've ever seen it so lush."

"Is this a problem?" Giorno asked.

"That depends," Bucciarati stepped forward, "on who or what has decided to tend this garden."

They did not have to ponder long. As soon as Bucciarati's boots touched the grass the air was rent with an anguished howl. Giorno had to dash to his side as thick brambles sprang up, trapping them in the clearing. 

"This is not a beetle," Bucciarati said, stepping in front of him.

"Are you sure?" Giorno pointed ahead to where the plants were twisting together, meshing into a cocoon that flowered open almost as soon as it became whole. From inside a gold creature emerged, graceful and light, humanoid yet distinctly insect-like around its limbs and expressionless face.

Something stirred in Giorno. Later he could only describe it as a mournful familiarity. In the moment, he raised his staff and willed the earth to concentrate at the tip, sending a boulder flying at the thing.

It barely made any sign of being hit at all, but Bucciarati was upon it, knives dancing.

The monster sprang back, landing poised at the cliff-edge. It waved an arm and Giorno moved forward to cover Bucciarati before realising that the target had been himself. Thick, barbed vines, only a little smaller than the ones hemming them in had wound around his right leg. He stumbled, hissing as his trapped leg twisted. Looking up, he saw Bucciarati still advancing, awkwardly parrying branches and leaves conjured from the air itself, slowing the closer he got to the edge; his graceful close-range style now a hindrance.

Giorno clasped his staff and, with some effort (he was tiring, dangerous) called up stalagmites to demolish the cliff below the monster's feet. It reacted almost immediately, springing away, but that was what he wanted. Bucciarati moved as though he had read his mind, chasing the monster back, away from the cliff, diving in and delivering quick, cutting strikes. The vines were digging into his thigh, but Giorno allowed himself a satisfied grin.

The monster recoiled, wailing. Bucciarati stepped forward to land the finishing blow, then hesitated. For a moment Giorno froze, wondering what kind of counterattack he had spotted, but instead he dashed around the thing, to Giorno's side.

"Why didn't you tell me it had you?" he barked, slicing at the vines.

"What? You could have landed the final blow!" The monster had regained its stability and was bearing down on them. "We need it caught between us to win. If it can move freely, we'll never pin it down." Giorno had to hold himself back from snapping his words. Bucciarati had thrown away a chance at victory for nothing.

"I know." Bucciarati's voice held no hint of irritation nor contrition. "For now, stay close to me."

Giorno bit back his protests, limping behind him as they circled. The monster twitched, head turning to the cliff. Giorno was torn between repeating his advice and letting Bucciarati realise for himself what a mistake he'd made, but before he could do either Bucciarati's face was close, close enough that his words brushed his hair.

He tapped Giorno’s staff with the flat of one of his blades. "Get me over there."

Giorno didn't understand, and then he did.

"Okay."

"On my mark."

Bucciarati continued to walk around the monster, one hand on Giorno's shoulder to guide or steady him. The monster took half a step back, arms rising a little. Saplings sprung up, flowered, withered and died in uncertain spools. It looked at them. It looked at the cliff. It looked at them, head to one side, fingers twitching. It looked to the cliff, began moving with purpose.

"Now!" Bucciarati had barely reached the end of the syllable before Giorno swung his staff, leaping back. The ground under Bucciarati reared up and the elf was flung into the air, catapulted over the head of the monster, which stared at him, blank face still managing to register surprise. That expression was still in place when Buciarati's knives flashed around it. For a moment it looked as if it might run yet, but Giorno had not let the magic go and he found the strength to hurl one last barrage of boulders, pinning the creature between the two assaults. 

It wailed once more, the sound leeching warmth from his soul, and then was enveloped by light and gone. 

The vines withered away into dust that dispersed on the breeze, and so did much of the plant-life in the clearing. What remained was still beautiful, but less strikingly so, and Giorno could not help but feel a little regret.

It took a while for them to relax, weapons still high despite the fact that Giorno would not have trusted himself to summon a pebble in his current state. Only when birdsong and the buzz of (small) insects began to trickle back in did Bucciarati finally put his knives away.

“That seems to be the end of it.” He smiled at him. “Thank you for your help. This could have been very dangerous alone.”

Giorno nodded, noting that faint lines of concern still marred Bucciarati’s gratitude. “I’ve never seen a monster like that before.” He called up a little burst of healing magic over both of them before putting his staff away, keeping the significant effort of doing so off his face. “Are they native here?”

Bucciarati watched the green glow of the spell travel over his skin. “No, I’ve never seen anything like it. No monster around here has that kind of power.” He shrugged. “I’ll ask around town, check the library and some of the more experienced adventurers. Someone will know something. For now,” he reached out a hand and Giorno took it, “the area is safe. The townsfolk will be happy to know they can start visiting again. Come, I’ll be sure to properly reward you when we get back to town.”

Giorno shook. “Oh? Is this not already it?”

“I’m sorry?” 

“You invited me to a romantic local spot, and you’re not even going to show me a good time?”

Bucciarati blinked, then laughed. “Oh? You looked like you were enjoying yourself.”

“Well, a little exercise certainly gets the heart racing, but it’s not exactly what I had in mind.”

He nodded, walking towards the precipice. “Let it never be said that I don’t pay my debts.” He settled down on the grass and patted the spot beside him.

Giorno sat beside him, resting back on his elbows, grateful for an excuse to rest before stumbling back all the way down the hill in his current state.

Bucciarati pointed out across the ocean, to the scrap of land gamely clinging to the horizon. “That is where I was born. My family were fishermen, as I said.”

Giorno nodded, watching the tension finally fall away from his face as he spoke and quite forgetting about anything else that had brought him here.

They stayed a long while as the sun crept up the sky, scents of the sea and the forest mingling in the air.


End file.
